


Heavy Dirty Soul

by darlingnewt (scisaacugh)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Depression, Happy Ending, M/M, also brief mention of hallucinations, lbr he was already less like himself by season 5 so this isn't too hard to imagine, like so vague you might miss it, past character deaths, references to drugs and smoking, this is pretty sad if you ask me, vague mention of self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 02:35:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4417739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scisaacugh/pseuds/darlingnewt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything goes downhill after Arthur's death, including Merlin's mental and emotional health. He spends the next two thousand years trying to find himself. (Or not trying.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heavy Dirty Soul

**Author's Note:**

> I made a [series](https://twitter.com/arthursIegacy/status/622669276177002496) of [tweets](https://twitter.com/arthursIegacy/status/622670982122049536) a few days ago ([+](https://twitter.com/arthursIegacy/status/622671563532337153), [+](https://twitter.com/arthursIegacy/status/622674150893576192)) and then I decided to write this at 6 am cause I fucking love pain
> 
> I tried to edit this but I have a hard time concentrating on shit so sorry if some of it doesn't make sense :///
> 
> also I didn't know what to title it so I went with twenty one pilots nice

After Arthur's death, Merlin went to visit his mum. He felt more than a bit lost; he hadn't realised how much his life really revolved around Arthur until now. He’d known they were tied, but it hadn’t hit him that Camelot was where he _belonged_. There was nothing tethering him there anymore. Now, he felt like his life had no more purpose, as his destiny had already been fulfilled.

But had it? He didn't know. Kilgharrah told him it wasn't over, but it certainly didn't feel that way. No, it felt like he had been ripped apart from the inside and was being quickly strung back together in a painful, unfamiliar way by a new artist who didn’t know him well enough to get the job done properly. His world wasn't as bright as it had once been; everything seemed as though it had been dulled down, colours halfway to grayscale. How could he even think about his fucking destiny?

 

* * *

 

Being with his mum helped. He felt a little like his younger self again, like he didn't have the weight of the world on his shoulders. (Then again, maybe that was because those days  _were_  over. He tried not to think of it that way.)

Of course, she welcomed him home with loving arms and a home that had grown warmer and more comfortable since his last visit. He supposed that with only her own mouth to feed, and with Arthur looking out for Ealdor, she was able to get by more comfortably.

Everything felt safe and hazy. His mum cooked for him and mothered him, just as she had when he was a child. Being back home in his childhood village felt so right and so strangely normal, like he had never left. Somehow, he was happy.

On the fifth day, just after sunrise, he woke up in a panic, clutching at his pounding heart and kicking at the thin blanket twisted around his feet. While he slept, the numbness he had felt after Arthur's death had worn off, and he found himself gasping for air, feeling like he’d been held underwater for hours. His chest ached, his lungs screamed for air, and for the first time in a while he felt small and unimportant. Things weren’t really the same, never would be — there was no Will to keep him company here, and the love of his life was dead. For the first time, his room felt cold and his home felt lonely.

His heart just felt empty.

 

* * *

 

Gaius's death was sudden. Merlin awoke one morning and he was — gone. Just like that. No important last words, no more advice for Merlin. Nothing but a cold body.

Once again, he felt lost. Not that his life had suddenly been redirected, but now he didn't even have Gaius to help him find his way back.

He stood by Gwen at the send-off. Neither cried, only stood solemnly as they said goodbye to someone long loved by all the court. Gwen squeezed his hand in an attempt to comfort both of them.

It didn't feel like Arthur's death had. Nothing ever would.

 

* * *

 

_On his way home from Avalon, Merlin struggled for the right words. How would he tell Gwen that her husband, the king, was dead? How would he make her understand that he had done everything in his power to save him? Surely everyone knew about his magic by then._

_His magic. His fucking magic. God, how he hated it now._

_Merlin had always wanted to fight for magic, to make Arthur see that it wasn't all bad. Now? Now he wanted nothing to do with it. It was magic that had wrecked his life, that had led to Morgana being corrupted by Morgause. Had she not felt so alone and betrayed, she would never have turned to evil. Without her magic, she couldn't have brought down Merlin's entire world. While hers was meant to cause harm, Merlin's was meant to_ save _. All that power and he couldn’t save his friend. In the end, all it was was useless._

_Merlin's whole identity was in his magic. That, and Arthur._

_Back to Arthur again, as always. Maybe Gwen would understand, would forgive him, but Merlin would never forgive himself. He should have done more, should have acted sooner, should have helped Morgana in the beginning, should have listened to Kilgharrah—_

_Should have, should have, should have. Those words stuck in his brain the entire way back home. Except it wasn't home without his king, and it felt selfish to go back without him like nothing had happened._ What will I even do there _? Merlin wondered, for the first time. Would he belong? Could he just show up and carry on like nothing had changed? Maybe they wouldn't even want him, would blame him for Arthur's death. Merlin squeezed his eyes shut, rubbed at his head, tried to turn off all his thoughts. It didn't work, and his words kept attacking him in new ways as his brain came up with more and more reasons to feel guilty._

_Fucking magic._

 

* * *

 

Hunith lived out the rest of her life happy and being taken care of by Merlin. His new position as court sorcerer found him more valued by the public than he had been as the king's servant, and now he actually made a living. Merlin thrived, and he sent gifts back to Ealdor with every letter he wrote.

Still, even with a new purpose, it wasn't quite the same. Things were too simple. He couldn't see where his life was going, always knew what to expect from each day. He missed the feeling of each day bring a new life for him to adjust to. He missed when he would collapse onto his bed after a long day of being yelled at by Arthur just for doing his job.

 _Job_. That's not exactly what it had been, though. All the floors he scrubbed and armour he polished and speeches he wrote, that had all been part of his destiny. Every small thing added up to the big picture that was helping Arthur become the man he was meant to be.

When his mother died, he hadn't seen her in a while. He had been too busy trying to get his life together to pay attention to the only family he had left, to the woman who gave him life and raised him to be the successful man he had become. He never stopped regretting that.

 

* * *

 

Gwen died of old age. She had lived a long, healthy life as sole ruler of Camelot, having never remarried after Arthur died. This, of course, proved for complications.

All Merlin wanted was time to mourn the death of his old friend, who had given him so much more than he could have asked for. He didn't want to deal with the threat of attacks from other leaders, didn't want to listen to the knights discuss who would rule while the situation was being sorted. As far as anyone knew, all of Arthur's relatives had long since died.

In fact, he wanted this so little that he packed what little belongings he had and left Camelot. It hadn't been the same since Arthur died, and with Gwen and the Knights of the Round Table gone (Percival had taken off with Gwen's permission, never to be seen again, and Leon had died in battle, loyal and strong til the end), there was nothing left for him there but holes in his heart. His body ached from the heavy weight of the souls he now carried around.

Unfortunately, the holes followed him everywhere he went. He tried to fill up the empty places, but it never quite worked. Only his thoughts filled them, seeped through his bones and poisoned his heart, and at night he found himself tossing and turning in dark, unfamiliar rooms and talking to ghosts in his head. Now he had all the time in the world for mourning.

 

* * *

 

Over the first century, he came to know some new people as he went about his travels. Some of them became good friends with whom he exchanged letters regularly once he left them. He helped people, sorcerers who were still harmed just for doing magic.

Eventually, they all died. Once again, Merlin found himself alone and confused, unsure of his purpose.

 

* * *

 

After a few hundred years, Merlin's memories began to blur together. Sometimes he couldn't remember his mother's face, which he knew should be a warm, comforting memory. Gwen's voice in his mind became a lot quieter, until eventually he couldn't remember how she sounded at all. All the advice Gaius had given him over the years was lost on him now, as though given to a different person.

Through all this, he could still remember every painful detail about Arthur. He remembered the exact colour of his eyes, the way he laughed, the way he looked early in the morning, light framing his face, so young and fresh in his sleep. Merlin supposed this was his punishment, to relive the best thing he'd ever had in sharp detail, knowing he'd never have that back. He had failed Arthur, failed his mother, and now he had to live with that. He can't even honour their memories properly.

He still helped people, but he made sure he never got to know them.

 

* * *

 

A thousand years after Camelot, Merlin began to wonder whether any of it had been real. It all seemed so distant, like it had happened to somebody else. Maybe he was just crazy or hallucinating. Maybe it didn't matter.

It didn't. He hated that person anyway, the happy, hopeful one from his "memories." He hated the boy who couldn't save his king. Yes, there was no way that had ever been Merlin.

He found himself still drifting through life, never attached to anyone or anything. He no longer mattered to anyone; he was just there, and then he was gone.

Still, he sometimes felt his magic thrumming beneath the surface, soft against his skin.

At first he tried to scratch it out. Then he ignored it.

 

* * *

 

Eventually, drugs came along. Merlin had been  _almost_  numb for a long time, but he had never quite gotten there.

He still didn't. The good feelings would wear off, and he would find himself alone, just like he had been for a long, long time. His memories got hazier, though, enough for him to pretend he was someone else. Someone who had never given up on everything that mattered.

No matter how much he fucked himself up with drugs and cigarettes, he knew he could never die (though he wondered what he was waiting for). He also knew he would never fully forget. It hit him hard every time he thought back on everyone he used to know, all the people who had long ago become dust. This new world belonged to everyone but him. To Merlin, it was just unfamiliar and cold.

At least the drugs made the itch of his long-dormant magic disappear for a while.

 

* * *

 

Arthur returns, and it's like Merlin's entire world comes alive again in one single moment. It's overwhelming, seeing the world bright and vibrant again, feeling like his life has purpose. His magic is no longer something to push away, to hate. He has a reason to get out of bed each morning.

At first, he's afraid. His life is back on track, but does that include his destiny? Merlin remembers the heavy weight of Camelot's fate resting on his tired shoulders, remembers the days near the end where he just couldn't drag himself and that fate out of bed. He remembers wondering if his pretense of being alright was even worth it — why should he bother fooling anyone? Those are feelings he never wants back.

But, he decides, none of that matters. Now, he doesn't have to fake anything. Everything is out in the open, and he thinks that with Arthur here, he can outrun his past. He'll be alright as long as he takes care of his friend again.

Except they're more than that. They always were. Merlin had known for a long time that what he felt for Arthur was more than platonic (even if it had taken him a while to accept this), and now he is free to love him with everything he is.

 

* * *

 

The idea that he can outrun his past doesn't last very long. After a week or two, Merlin begins to wonder if his history — his history since Arthur — is really erased. He spent two thousand years trying to find his way alone, and he ended up so fucked up he didn't even trust his own memories.

Arthur doesn't understand why Merlin has changed. He looks at him and sees his friend, but when Merlin speaks, that image is washed away. He sounds rough, like he hasn't slept in days (or years), and the way he speaks of himself and his life is so foreign, so self-deprecating in a way Arthur had never known from him.

Still, he's Merlin. He's the boy who used to wake him in the mornings with a smile on his face, who insisted on following him into every battle, who constantly joked and tripped over his own feet. And when Merlin looks at him, he sees more passion in his eyes than he knows what to do with.

If Arthur is sure of anything in this new world, it's that he will help Merlin find his way back to himself. With every meal they share and every shop they explore around the city and every rainy evening they spend curled together on the couch, Arthur sees the light returning to Merlin's eyes.

He's just doing what Merlin did for him.


End file.
